


Flash The Message, Something's Out There

by verhalen



Series: Northern Lights [16]
Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works & Related Fandoms, The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien, Worldweavers - Multiverse
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Anal Sex, Gay Sex, Interspecies Romance, Interspecies Sex, Knifeplay, M/M, Magical Realism, One Shot, Past Abuse, Past Lives, Reincarnation, Time Skips
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-10
Updated: 2019-04-10
Packaged: 2020-01-10 22:05:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,712
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18416777
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/verhalen/pseuds/verhalen
Summary: In Toronto in 2019, Dagnýr Sigurdsson gives a TED Talk about the possibility that Earth has had visitors from elsewhere.He knows more about his subject matter than he thinks he does.Set chronologically between chapter 11 and chapter 12 ofChains Of Eternity, and before the one shotSapere Aude(though it is recommended to readSapere Audebefore this if you're going through the one shots).





	Flash The Message, Something's Out There

**Author's Note:**

> Title is a lyric from Nena's "99 Red Balloons".
> 
> Once again, a tip of the hat to Narya for "Brian Proust".

**2019**  
_Toronto, Ontario, Canada_  
  
Dagnýr Sigurdsson swallowed hard as he looked out at the audience, gathered in this auditorium for his first TED Talk, here in Convocation Hall at the University of Toronto, where he taught physics.  
  
He'd spent the last fifteen years conducting research, constructing theories, writing articles. He'd given a handful of interviews, including a guest spot on Neil Degrasse Tyson's talk show. He was one of the scientists who helped test and develop the Large Hadron Collider. His doctoral advisor had Stephen Hawking as a doctoral advisor. He was one of the most well-known theoretical astrophysicists of the 21st century, who had a lot to say about string theory, dark matter, emergence, and the theory of everything.  
  
But here, underneath the spotlight, in a grey Brooks Brothers suit and tie, wearing wire-rimmed glasses, a headset with mic in his ear, over fifteen hundred people here for the privilege of watching him talk about his life's work, he felt like an impostor. He'd escaped the abuse he'd grown up with at age fourteen, when he was accepted to Oxford, a child prodigy, earning his doctorate at the age of twenty, and a post-doctorate at twenty-five. He was thirty-four now, almost thirty-five. And yet, sometimes he was reliving it like it was yesterday. He could hear his uncle Einar's voice in the back of his head as he looked at the crowd.  _You are good for nothing. All you do is hide behind your books, but what use is it in the real world? Who gives a shit about any of it?_  
  
His friend and colleague, the calculus professor Brian Proust, had a front-row seat. The old man smiled at him, eyes crinkling. The words of Einar were replaced by encouragement Brian had once given him when he was struggling with falling down another "rabbit hole" of research, feeling like the more he learned, the more it was apparent he didn't know much at all, and voiced the same "what does any of this even matter" in his frustration. _What you are doing with this is important. You may not be curing cancer or pulling children from a burning building or inventing a better electric car. But your work is important in another way. It reminds us of mystery. Adventure. Wonder. Without it, the spark of life dies._  
  
_Wonder._  Dagnýr had felt that as a child, looking up at all the stars in the pristine night skies of Akureyri, wondering what was out there. Wondering if anyone had come from those stars to Earth.  
  
It was his oldest curiosity, and one he still hadn't tired of, three decades later. As unscientific as it was to think so, he could feel it in his  _blood_ , that something was out there. He didn't know what. He might never know. But he would learn all he could, while he could.  
  
He looked back at the sea of stars that was his audience, the sparks of life that he would feed now, with his words. The screen behind him showed the famous Pale Blue Dot photo, made popular by the late Carl Sagan, who Dagnýr thought of as a spiritual ancestor, though he was agnostic.

 

It was time. He took a deep breath.  
  
"Here we are," he said, "all alone in the solar system. As far as we currently know, all alone in the galaxy. All alone in  _any_  galaxy.  
  
"But do we know that for a fact? Are we, in fact, alone?  
  
"Carl Sagan had said that of billions and billions of stars -" He smiled, and so did several dozen people in the audience. "-the possible number of advanced civilizations capable of interstellar travel was about one million, max. Any civilization wishing to check on all the others would have to launch 10,000 ships annually, which is... a lot of spaceships."  
  
He'd had his memelord brother Sören quickly whip up bad MS Paint doodles for a slideshow for some of the presentation; his audience knew to expect occasional moments of humor.

[The Alot from the old  _Hyperbole and a Half_   blog](http://hyperboleandahalf.blogspot.com/2010/04/alot-is-better-than-you-at-everything.html), covered in spaceships, was on the screen behind him, captioned ALOT OF SPACESHIPS. Laughter and a few groans from the audience; Dagnýr smiled genuinely now, relaxing.  
  
"But would they need to check on  _all_  the civilizations? And would they have to launch any ships at all? Maybe we're thinking about these highly advanced civilizations, spacefaring, the wrong way. Maybe they are using quantum fields to travel, maybe even pockets of dark matter.  
  
"Tonight, I'll be challenging what you think you know about the concept of life on other worlds. No pseudoscience of UFOs - no need to fly at all. Why fly, when you can just walk through a door?  
  
"Tonight, I'll be challenging what you think you know about the concept of the universe itself. Are we in a universe, singular, or are we in a multiverse, plural?  
  
"We may not be as alone as we think we are. Is that comforting? Not really. Terrifying, harrowing. But just like primitive humans had to conquer their fear of fire, and harness it to survive - we must continue to face that which we do not understand. And in that, science fiction truly is accurate - space is the final frontier."  
  
  
_  
  
_First Age_  
  
Underneath the open stars, in the glow of the campfire, Finrod plucked his harp. He smiled as he heard Balan sing - his Sindarin was less clumsy as the years passed.  
  
Finrod played and Balan sang for awhile, and then, they enjoyed the peace and quiet, with Finrod resting his head on Balan's shoulder. He sighed as the Man began to play with his long waves of golden hair, tenderly rubbing his scalp. He lifted his face to nuzzle the Man's grizzly beard, and his hand took Balan's free one, squeezing.  
  
"Do you miss it?" Balan asked, speaking language of Men, breaking the silence.  
  
"Miss what?"  
  
"Home." Balan's face tilted, looking Finrod in the eyes. "Where you're from."  
  
"Sometimes." Finrod nodded. "This is my life now, I accept that."  
  
"But surely you must regret the exile..."  
  
"I regret many things. But one action leads to another, and to change one is to change the other... and sometimes, changes unseen, unknown. If a butterfly flaps its wings in East Beleriand, there is a storm in West Beleriand. I miss the days of old, aye. I would also miss  _you._ " Finrod pressed a kiss to Balan's forehead. "And I would miss getting to know your people. Learning from them, about them, a whole new world to discover. In the lifespans my people live, you do not know how good it is to finally have something new, something unknown to get to know. It is good to share of my own people, who Men had not seen before, and experience who we are through new eyes."  
  
"These eyes find you beautiful." Balan smiled, and kissed Finrod's mouth, with Finrod kissing him back. Sweet and gentle, like the kiss of rain, or soft starlight.  
  
For now.  
  
"My eyes find you beautiful, as well." Finrod's fingers trailed from Balan's beard, to his chest hair. "You are primal. Wild. Raw nature."  
  
"We could have been wilder." Balan chuckled. "You were smart to play harp and sing to us when you found us, or we would have drawn weapons on you."  
  
"I too could have attacked you, with spells. I took the chance of peace. That, I do not regret."  
  
"I'd still like to take you captive." Balan's voice was rough before he nipped Finrod's lower lip with his teeth, then kissed and licked his neck how he knew the Elf liked it, making him moan and shiver. The graze of Balan's teeth on his neck, a nibble, and Finrod cried out, melting in his hands.  
  
"Please..." Finrod panted.  
  
Balan pushed Finrod to his back. With the dagger at his belt, he cut the fine silk robes from Finrod's body, caressing the exposed creamy flesh, trailing the blade against it. Finrod arched to him, cock throbbing at the look in Balan's eyes, the bite of the knife's edge - not cutting him. Just enough to let him know he could, and he would not.  
  
"So beautiful." Balan leaned down to kiss him, and they both reached together for the vial of oil in their bag of supplies.  
  
"Please, now." Finrod was in heat for it, needing this Man inside him, to fill the hollow, to know and be known.  
  
Balan readied them both, and slid inside. He pinned Finrod's wrists to the ground, kissing him hard as he plowed him, fast and feverish. Finrod rocked his hips back at Balan, writhing underneath him. " _Ai_ , Balan," he cried. "Just like that..."  
  
Before they could explode together, Balan slowed down, the way Finrod had taught him. The way Finrod had taken him after Balan had nightmares of a time before his arrival, and needed the  _Anguish_. Balan kept his thrusts achingly slow, kissed and stroked every part of Finrod that he could reach, until Finrod was sobbing, begging. Until they were both almost sobbing, feeling as if they would break, explode from the heat of their passion, the all-consuming need. It went on and on, flame burning hotter and hotter, the dance of pleasure and pain, nothing else in the world existing but this. Then they shattered, and all was the stars.  
  
His cousin Turgon had first given him the  _Anguish_ , long ago. He thought of his beloved Turgon as he lay there with Balan, who he also loved.  
  
Before he could think on the rest of his family - and all that he had lost - his thoughts returned to Balan. "Thank you."  
  
Balan became Bëor the Old, and in his ninety-third year, he died. Finrod was there until the end, loving him until his final breath. He had flowers planted on Bëor's grave.  
  
When Finrod himself died, he was pardoned by the Valar, due to his many noble deeds. For a time, he lived in Valinor with Amarië, a woman he loved. But the bond between he and Turgon was such that he felt it when Turgon died, made more sharply bitter for the loss of his other love, Bëor  _ever Balan in my heart_. And as time went on and there was no Turgon, and he knew that Turgon had been punished, as the rest of his family, his soul grew sick.  
  
_He hath been cursed for the Sin,_  came the answer when he cried out.  
  
"I hath sinned also," Finrod said. "I still sin, in my heart. It is what I am. My kin should not be judged for what we cannot help."  
  
The life was drained from him, a sharp stabbing pain though no wound was made. With his dying breath, he cried out to his blood, scattered in the Void like the stars in the sea of space, but in the Void there were strings, woven curses, the secret blooded darkness that the Valar tried to conceal with their light.  _I will find thee. Thou wilt not bear this judgment alone. Not even thee, Fëanor. Thou wert right about the Valar all along._  
  
He was returning to the realm of Men. The years came undone, the memories stripped away into the blank slate of mortal flesh.  
  
_  
  
_2019_  
  
"Ultimately, we can't prove any of this... it's why it's called theoretical astrophysics. The only thing I know for certain, here, is that we really don't know much of anything at all. Indeed, future generations - with more information, better technology - still won't know everything, or even much more than we've learned to date.  
  
"What I do know is that I am willing to be wrong about everything I just said, I am willing to look like a fool, if someone is willing to  _prove_  me wrong. Because the future of humanity, here on this pale blue dot, is such that until and unless we can prove these doors exist, and open them... we are still alone. There is dark matter, but the greater darkness is closer to home. It's inside all of us.  
  
"And it is only by being willing to keep delving into that darkness - to learn more, about the nature of reality, the nature of ourselves...  _that_  is what preserves this world. That is what has taken us from the caves to the skies. That is the poetry of the starstuff that we are all made of. The willingness to light that fire within, to face the fear of the unknown, and find the truth, however it hurts. However it may break the world that we know, however it may break  _us_ , ourselves. Knowledge is power, and it is only in breaking what we  _think_  is our reality, and go deeper... that the pieces fall together as they should. As they  _must_ , for our continued survival. Thank you."  
  
There was a standing ovation, which Dagnýr was not expecting. He smiled, took a small bow, and waited until it was polite to exit the stage.  
  
His husband Matt was waiting there for him, arms instantly around him, his fortress. "You did great," Matt said. "I can't wait to see it on YouTube."  
  
"Oh god it's gonna be on YouTube." He knew that beforehand, of course, but now it was a wrap, and it felt different, a fresh surge of anxiety.  
  
Anxiety, and relief that he'd just done it. He hadn't choked. He hadn't failed. Dagnýr nuzzled Matt's beard, as Matt stroked Dagnýr's clean-shaven chin. "You did it," Matt said, sensing the flood of emotion. "You did it. You  _rocked the house._ "  
  
There was a small afterparty. Brian strolled up to him at the snack table. "That was most excellent."  
  
"Thank you."  
  
"I'm proud of you," Brian said, the closest Dagnýr had ever come to receiving praise from a father figure.  
  
Dagnýr found himself hugging the old man, not caring how unprofessional it looked.  
  
  
_  
  
  
Brian Proust got back to his house late; his cats and dog had been keeping vigil. He chuckled as he walked in. "I'm here, you silly beasts," he teased.  
  
He gave them the obligatory affection, and then he dipped into his closet, inside the clothing rack he kept close to the door to fool anyone who might ever have occasion to be in his room, opening that door - you never know. He rose up and approached the altar table, opening the hollow book, unwrapping the  _palantir._  He'd felt her weight at the edge of his consciousness throughout the TED Talk, politely holding back as he sent the confidence spell, not wanting his friend to choke at one of the most important moments of his career.  
  
The mists swirled, and there she was, in Valinor.  _Mithrandir._  
  
"Galadriel."  
  
_How is my brother._  
  
"He is well." Olórin nodded. "As well as can be expected, considering."  
  
_He still does not know._  
  
"Not yet. It is not time."  
  
_And yet the darkness draws nearer._  
  
"It does. But it will be time... when it is time." Olórin's eyes looked up, saw into the distance, saw Matt chatting on the Internet with a woman named Nicole. "He has children on the way." _I will pretend to act surprised when he tells me._  
  
Galadriel's eyes widened. _Is that_  wise,  _with what is to come?_  
  
"I think that even as he does not know, something in his heart knows, and he is following that. It is perhaps precisely with what is to come, that he is doing what he is doing, now. A light of hope."  
  
_I would ask that when he knows in full... give him my love._  And words unspoken - Olórin saw a private moment where she wept ( _tears unnumbered will ye shed_ ).  
  
"That I will do."  _He has much love here, even from those among his kin who he once opposed._  He thought of the flame, glowing in mortal skin.  _Especially those._    
  
A glimpse at Dagnýr looking at a picture of his brother back in Iceland, worried for him.  _I am my brother's keeper,_  Dagnýr broadcasted.  
  
_Tenn' enomentielva._  Galadriel held out her hand.  
  
The mists fell over the glass again. Olórin wrapped it up and tucked it away. Then he went outside to sit on his porch, smoke a pipe, and gaze up at the stars.  
  
_You are indeed not alone, Dagnýr._


End file.
